Portraits of a Couple
by On either side the river lie
Summary: In response to '25 Days of Fanfic Christmas Challenge' here is a collection of drabbles based on Matthew and Mary. Canon and Au. Other Downton characters sometimes mentioned.
1. Day 1 - 4

_Hello and welcome to 25 days of fanfic Christmas Challenge - where I have painted pictures of the beautiful and complex relationship that is Matthew and Mary. I have been posting these drabbles on Tumblr under the same authors name, so you are welcome to come and follow me there as well. Let me know your thoughts. We all have stories to share, mine - at this point are set within the confines of this OTP. Cheers and read on..._

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**Day 1 - A forest of Mistletoe**

He moved her with deft practise around the room. Their heads cocked together and the miniscule space between heated with expectancy. The flames of the many candles leapt to the music, the lights on the magnificent tree sparkled brighter and the romance of the shadows that played across the room sang of happiness. Their happiness.

They twirled around Edith and Tom, hearing their snatched words on something to do with farming, and Matthew paused under the archway. Mary looked up into his eyes as he spun her on the spot and he delved in to take a kiss that spoke of utter joy but also a shyness of that which caused it.

Mary's wide eyes of surprise and her sideways glance to the rest of the room, made Matthew chuckle. He pointedly looked upward and Mary spied the branch of mistletoe overhead.

"Really Matthew. Here, in the middle of the ball?" The familiar eyebrow cocked in exasperation.

"Does it matter; protocol dictates that a kiss must take place."

"Always a creature of duty, but you would find any excuse for public displays of affection"

"Quite right. I'm not sure if I can withhold my amorous inclinations for any length of time"

They sidestepped Robert and Cora and he moved them gracefully away from the other dancers towards the fireplace. Matthew slowed and as his nose neared Mary's cheek she instinctively tilted her head to receive his lips. This kiss spoke of tenderness and hope. She pulled away and raised her eyes to see more mistletoe over the mantelpiece. Her eyebrows rose in silent amusement. Something was afoot.

"You must not appear too intent. We need these next couple of weeks…to be sure."

"Well then, for tonight at least I have the mistletoe as an excuse to lather ministrations on my wife!"

The rapid way Matthew took them past the gramophone and the Dowager suggested a specific location before the music stopped. She arched her back to counter balance the speed at which he took them.

"My god Matthew, you must slow down. The sea within me doesn't stop just because the shell does. I'm not partial to seeing that sumptuous dinner twice."

He pulled her close and they almost stopped swaying as he tipped her chin upward to meet a promise of utmost love and devotion. He didn't care that the household were all congregated in that one room celebrating Christmas; he only had thoughts of Mary and what they had discovered that morning.

Her eyes never wavered from his as she spoke, "There seems to be a lot of mistletoe this Christmas?" Her breath caressed his chin. In her peripheral vision she spied copious amounts of mistletoe hanging in doorways, above the stairs and throughout the Grand Hall. No doubt more elsewhere in the Abbey.

"I've had Lynch scouring the woods for weeks. It seems that there were parts of the abbey that we hadn't christened yet.'

The rumble that emitted from her chest drew a few glances "And you would have your wicked way with me here, in the Grand Hall?"

He smirked and the eyebrow that got raised only inferred wickedness. "Perhaps after all the servants have gone to bed we can get the hall boy drunk and I can open my Christmas present** under** the tree?"

Holding onto his hand as she broke from his embrace, she started up the stairs, leaving no doubt to Matthew that they were retiring for the night.

"Oh my darling, we already have our gift. But I definitely think something needs to be unwrapped"

**_Day 2 Spiced Chocolate_**

The door clicked and Mary maneuvered up the bed to rest against the headboard, clutching at the bed sheets. She hummed eagerly as Matthew made his way to the side of the bed.

"I'm afraid either Carson or Mrs. Hughes is onto us. There was a big tin of the best Dutch coco sitting on the kitchen bench tonight just waiting there for me to discover it."

"Do you think that they know it is us?" She arched her brow whilst blowing into her cup.

"Possibly. You know Carson; he has a sixth sense about these things."

"And they surely wouldn't obtain the best coco for the hall boys?"

"Absolutely not. Besides I'm sure Carson remembers your penchant for warmed chocolate milk from when you were very young and snuck into the kitchens in your nightgown."

"Not always so young, and later, never in my nightgown." She huffed with indignation.

As she took a deep breath of the steaming mug, inhaling a delicious perfume a contented hum reverberated in her chest. "I think, my darling that you have outdone yourself tonight. It has a distinct Christmas pudding smell."

He chuckled, knowing that Mary loved the guessing game of what he put into the warmed milk.

"It has a distinct hint of cinnamon, but…..something else? Tell me?" Mary took a few tentative sips swirling it around her tongue.

"If I tell you, I would have to tickle you." He started to put his cup towards the bedside table and stretching his fingers on his free hand.

"Oh no you don't, that would be the death of me, and I'm sure all that excitement is not good for the baby. Besides, I still have three guesses."

Taking a hefty sip of his coco Matthew waved his hand between them in a gesture of information forthcoming.

"Is there …..citrus peel in here?" She hedged.

"No fruit what so ever."

Her finger tapped the side of the cup as she contemplated, finally venturing, "Perhaps, brandy then?"

The feigned shock on Matthew's face added dramatics to their little midnight game. "I will not ply my pregnant wife with alcohol just to get her to sleep. Warmed milk and the sound of my soothing voice seem to do that nicely enough."

"As nice as nice can be." She hummed again sipping the beverage and she looked him in the eye, hers twinkling with mirth and knowledge. "Oh fine then, Ginger. It has the warming and peppery taste of gingerbread." She smiled then with triumph and licked her lips.

**_Day 3 –_****Pritla (Inuit: Our Children's Snow)**

Each snowflake was unique. Like each moment of time in each person's life.

"I think that we have been here before?" The dry powder snow crunched underfoot as he approached her.

"One moment in time that took eight years to get to and yet look what we have had crammed into less than a year since?" She turned smiling slightly, her eyes returning to the dark night and the diamonds that wafted around them.

"A year filled with unique and unforgettable memories." Matthew whispered the statement into the night. The way he placed his jacket over her bare shoulders spoke of tenderness and familiarity.

"I seem to have become an incubator with heat just emanating from me." To prove her point Mary extended her gloved hand and watched as the piece of crystalline art disappeared instantly.

"Yes, you're one hot mamma!" She rolled her eyes and dipped her chin whilst leaning back into his embrace. His hands joining low on her stomach, cupping the gentle swell of the protruding bump.

"I heard at University that the Eskimo's have over 400 words describing snow." Matthew shared in wonderment.

The teasing in Mary's tone as she responded indicated this was among many interesting pieces of information shared. "Well I can see that being helpful in your law profession as well running an estate!"

They watched the snowflakes dance in the night, lost in their own thoughts of the reality of the past, grateful of the present and the dreams for the future.

"I can imagine our little princess right now curled up warm and content surrounded by a sea of sparkling snowflakes just like tonight."

"Such a poetic tongue, Matthew. Are you referring to me as a snow globe?"

His chuckle next to her ear confirmed her suspicions and he nuzzled into the crook of her neck breathing in the warm scent of his beautiful wife.

"And besides," she continued with the stubbornness of a continued argument, "It's a prince."

"Fine then, you win," he breathed softly onto the exposed skin of her neck, sending a delicious tingle of excitement down her spine, reminding her that soon they could creep up to bed and celebrate in private.

"Or rather, we're both right. A prince for you and a princess for me."

"Good god Matthew," Mary whispered into the blanket of night, "Be careful what you wish for. How on earth could we handle a mini Matthew _and_ a mini me both at the same time!" She huffed at the thought and Matthew's crooked smile expressed exactly what that thought brought to mind.

She turned in his arms, wanting, not the night to end, but a new place to which they could make memories. Her hands hooked into the fabric of his shirt on the sides of his chest, pulling him closer.

"Keep in mind that I am not the kind of snow globe that is shaken or gets turned upside down. I rather think that a genie lamp more fitting. Wouldn't you say?"

The laughter that echoed out from the Abbey's walls promised a glimpse of happiness to come.

"Well then Mary…I think that there needs to be some rubbing to see what happens next!"

**_Day 4 - a chocolate penny for your thoughts_**

"_Matthew Crawley_!"

She'd seen that look before. The wide-eyed petulant look of someone caught in an act of wrongdoing. The exact same expression plastered on his handsome and now older face, that fateful day that they had met.

"What?" He was frozen, standing in the middle of the room, unsure of where to now look.

Wet sucking noises drew both of their attention to what he was holding in his arms. There was no denying the image before Mary was one that could melt her heart; however every unknown maternal instinct kicked in. Pausing to compose a face of strict disproval she strode into the nursery with one thing on her mind, to save her niece from this disastrous mess.

"Please tell me that she hasn't had all those." Mary nodded toward the pile of golden circles of foil on the floor with an exasperated raised brow.

"What," Matthew jerked, looking guiltily at the eaten coins, "absolutely not. Tom had them in his pocket after giving the farming children them when he was visiting. I think that he must have been finishing them off when Sybbie woke from her nap." The rate at which he divulged the information clearly expressed an air of innocence.

"She's not even one yet. Whatever made him think that he could give her chocolate?"

"Look at her face Mary, I don't think that Tom has learnt how to say no to her yet."

They both looked at Sybbie, a face scrunched in ecstasy with one hand stuffed in her mouth and the other flailing around grabbing at anything Matthew. Chocolate was melted and smudged over her entire face and hands, in her hair; staining her gown and making her look like she had just been rescued from a puddle.

And as Mary took the whole scenario in, she wondered just how long he had been holding her as Matthew had chocolate everywhere too.

The door to the nursery opened with gusto and Tom walked in, washcloth in hand momentarily surprised by the sight before him. Chocolate covered Sybbie squealed with delight at seeing her father and flailing to get out of Matthew's arms into her father's she pushed her chubby hand into Matthew's mouth. At which he surprised her by licking and sucking the melted remnants from her fingers, resulting in a loud burst of giggles from the toddler.

He wagged his eyebrows at Mary, the hand still in his mouth, challenging her resolve at maintaining anger giggle still erupting.

"Well then", as she strode over to the bell pull, "I think we will have to organize a warm cleansing bath."

She turned then smirking in a quintessential Lady Mary way, rolled her eyes at Tom. "For two!"


	2. Day 5 - 8

**Day 5- The Fir and the Treasure Box**

The box that Isobel handed Mary reminded her of a treasure chest. Wooden with metal handles on each side, ornate metal capping on each corner, and an elegant escutcheon with key. It was weighty with the past, and Isobel hesitated only in her heart when handing it over, ready now to give something to her son and his growing family's future.

And indeed it was filled with treasured memories, Matthew's and Isobel's and his father Reginald. Pieces that spoke of moments in time, not forgotten, just hovering in the periphery in the interval, but brought out once a year, dusted off, and graced into the present as specks of their lives.

It had been Matthew's family Christmas tradition to collect a token each year, something that could tell a story, remind them of a memory, to be hung on their little tree. Isobel's pride held her tongue to the reason why it had started, not so much as a conscious decision, but due to the fact that they really had no heirloom's handed down and decided that to start from scratch may as well have some reasoning to it.

"This is for you Mary, and of course Matthew, to be able to share a piece of Matthew's childhood with your own children. I know that you have your own tree here at Downton and your own way of doing things, but I thought it fitting that now that you are expecting your own little one, you could make a couple of your own." Isobel smiled reticently, hoping that Mary would understand the significance of the gesture.

"Oh Isobel, do you really want to part with these now?" Her hand ran over the lid and turning the key, lifted the lid. The smile that erupted from her lips could do nothing to hide the gasp of surprise, as before her lay little pieces of the Matthew that she had never known.

"I think I'll have tea with your Mother more often. I find her tales of Master Matthew more entertaining than Granny on a good night."

"Now, that's unfair to Cousin Violet. She is the show that keeps running; my Mother's recaps will only go so far without boring you to tears."

"How can I bore hearing of your first fishing trip and you kept hooking your father's cap, or how you preferred to skip than run, or how the first time you played Joseph in the church nativity play you tripped and fell in the cradle. Or how you wrote so much that the nibs of your pens would continually break and your fingers were always stained black. But I think my favourite is the one where you learnt to ride and you had bruises on your derriere and couldn't sit down for a week." Her chuckle echoed through the halls as they made their way upstairs.

"Gosh, Mother was thorough wasn't she?" They came to pause, his hand on the door to their private sitting room, Christmas decoration treasure box under arm.

"And Matthew," Mary's hand rest on his chest over his heart, "she spoke with such tenderness when you escaped the nursery in the middle of the night and crept into your parent's bed for comfort."

A wistful and adoring look passed between them. A moment that they too would no doubt share.

"I slept walked." His petulant reply made Mary's eyes roll heavenward.

The door opened widely and they both took a step inside.

"Oh Matthew, it's beautiful." Her hand coming to her mouth, sparkles in her eyes.

The bare Silver Fir stood in front of the window, waiting to be dressed by the contents of the box, plus one extra ornament for their first Christmas together and the little one that would soon be with them.

**Day 6 – Twas the night before Christmas, when angels came flying**

"_Twas our first night before Christmas_….finally." Mary's hand reached to cover an unladylike yawn that she had no intention of hiding. "I'm too comfortable to move to bed."

"Hmmmm" Matthew wiggled his toes, clad in bare stockings cozily close to the fire. He had kicked off his shoes without thinking too much of it and had leant back on the settee, as Mary stretched her long legs along the plush material, her back supported by his torso and her shoulder tucked under his arm. He traced circles over the slightly protruding swell of her abdomen, hypnotizing both baby and mother in a soft and tender caress.

"Don't let Anna see your shoes up there, she'll have a fit"

"Lucky for me, Darling, she has long since gone home to bed."

"That last cognac has relaxed me enough that I wouldn't care if we slept here on our settee, however I think that we would both regret it in the morning." As they reclined in their private sitting room, no-one would have believed that the future Count and Countess of Grantham could be so at ease in their surroundings.

"It has been an exhausting day catching up with Aunt Rosamund and Edith and hearing all their news from London. I'm rather impressed though, as London seems to be taking a shine to Edith and giving her perspective."

"You mean that her barbs didn't have as much bite?"

"Early days Matthew, early days." A sigh of the unbelieving escaped her lips as her hand patted his thigh. "I think we did a marvelous job with our little tree." Mary continued, "I plan to bring Isobel up tomorrow before dinner, to show her our efforts. Do you think she will be impressed Darling?"

"I think that she will sing our praises from the rooftops, and be quietly touched that you have embraced the idea."

"I can't think of anything more fitting than holding on to the important bits of our past and tweaking them for the future."

"Quite right. But have you noticed that the tree seems to be lacking something?"

Mary sat more upright and peered over the back of the sofa to gaze at the fir sprinkled with Matthew's memories.

"What? I don't see anything amiss. Is there something I forgot? Surely we used all the decorations from the box. What is it Matthew, tell me now?"

The creases on her brow and raised voice conveyed her concern and the seeming improbability and he answered with a quirk at the corner of his mouth.

"You'll find a gift under the tree for you Mary."

"Really! For me Darling?" If looks of love and surprise could play music, his would have sung. The golden box lay in her lap begging to be opened, even as she paused to gain approval from Matthew. Motioning his hands for her to continue she tore at the ribbon eagerly.

"Shouldn't we have waited until Christmas day? I feel so guilty opening this early."

"Just this once. You'll see why."

Both of them held their breath, one for excitement and the other for anticipation.

The contents caught the soft flicker of the candlelight, a ray of golden light of new beginnings. Mary's long fingers plucked it from the box as she let a long quiet breath through pursed lips.

"Oh Matthew, it's divine. However did you know to get it?" Their eyes locked and she emptied her love into that gaze, he always had been so thoughtful.

"Mother mentioned just after we were married that she was going to pass on the Christmas tree ornaments, and I wanted to make sure that we had our very own angel to watch over us. Do you like it; I had it made especially for us?"

Mary turned the golden angel in her hands admiring the handiwork, delighted in the detail and how with a curved sheet of metal, such concept of structure could be portrayed.

"Such workmanship, it is beautiful Matthew." He leaned forward happily as his hand caressed her knee.

"It was a jeweler in York actually, with fine work. I made sure he incorporated the Grantham crest here, on the gown…but there is something else, can you see it?"

It didn't take her long; he knew her keen eye for detail, observing everything without appearing so. Her long elegant fingers tracing over the pattern scrolled into the base of the gown.

"Are these entwining M's Matthew, for our initials?" Laughter lines of happiness radiated from the corners of her eyes as her smile lit up his heart.

"For whom we are now, in this moment. Before we become the Lord and Lady Grantham. Shall we put it on the tree?"

He rose and offered his hand, weaving their fingers fondly as they crossed the room.

Angels were messengers from the heavens, and if they could sing, the melody would melt hearts and bring joy to the world. The golden rays that glinted in this sitting room on this night burst with the love within it. The last nine years were stored to be one day retold, along with every new decoration that they would collect together.

"You are my crowning glory Mary. You are the angel that guided me back, and my love to shape our future."

She reached up and kissed him passionately then, wanting to thank him for his words and having this unforgettable moment.

In his arms as they gazed at the tree on their first married Christmas Eve, her eyes squinted at the angel. If she leant just a little left and looked more closely at the profile, she wondered if he had also made sure that the silhouette wasn't unlike her own.

**Day 7: A Path of Crumbs**

An eye that takes in detail often stores massive amounts of information away to be used at a later date. Such information could prove very fruitful. So it was as December approached and unfolded that Mary took stock of the choices Matthew made. Essentially his decisions of sweets when taking tea. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind the third consecutive time that he had chosen to eat a fruit mince pie, the cake knife chopped and she watched, as a wife does, cataloguing her husband's behaviour.

It was a mundane and unimportant thing really, but Mary came to notice, with mirth behind her eyes how without a whisper of hesitation Matthew chose to eat a mince pie at every opportunity. His sweet tooth, accentuated after the war, could not be satisfied by one it seemed. He had licked his lips and had two when they had tea with Travers after church on Sunday with some of the elders. When they had visited Granny last week, Matthew's eyes bulged at the sight of a plate piled high with dark pastry filled with fruit and covered by sticky melted sugar, and she was sure she had seen him go back three or four times over tea.

At Isobel's there must have been a silent understanding from years of living together, as she had only offered mince pies and a sticky date cake. Neither that Mary refused, but she was determined she had been the only one eating the latter, which was delicious.

The look of longing that had so openly settled on his face at the Village Hall as they attended the local judging of Christmas cakes, baking and homemade craft clearly had been due to the Mince pie section. The Dowager and a gaggle of women poured over the beautiful cake platters filled to the brim ready for evaluation.

As Mary and Matthew sat in a quiet corner of the teashop afterwards, she saw his face fall when he realized his limited choices. As they ordered two slices of fruitcake with their tea, it was clear on his face though that he could not relish it as much. Conversation flowed from whom would be arriving for the shoot after New Years to how much work needed to be done to some of the farms before spring. And it was in this spirit of nonconsequensical chatter, that warmth of love and endearment flowed through Mary's heart and she thought to make a request to Mrs. Patmore as soon as they arrived home.

…

"You have made me a happy man, wife!" Matthew bellowed as he burst through their bedroom door, precariously balancing a plate filled with fruit mince pies. "Hansel and Gretel would have been proud!"

"I had to find one way into my darling husband's heart, although I never would have dreamed it would have been with mince pies though." Her eyebrows rose, and she played with a look of irritation before laughing. "It took you long enough though; I was getting quite coaxed into sleep waiting for you."

"I must say Mary, it took me years to understand your wicked sense of humour, but I'm just realizing just how much you like to play games."

"When one languishes in a waiting room for…._ Years,_ one invents many games in one's head to pass the time." He chuckled picturing his Mary playing these kinds of games with another suitor, and the cut of jealousy that slashed his mind urged him to flop onto the bed next to her and possessively crawl over her reclined form, eagerly wanting to lavish his wife with affections.

"Well Matthew Crawley!... whatever are you doing. I thought that you would be wanting those mince pies as a midnight feast, not feasting on your wife?" the feigned look of innocence that spread across her face could fool neither, as her hands dove into his thick hair.

"It's not midnight yet, and I will be hungry for dessert. Now come to me woman, you doth protest too much!"

….

"For god's sake Matthew, there are crumbs throughout the bed sheets! I can feel every single one on my bare skin!"

"I'll shake you out after we have finished the plate." His hand caressed her ivory skin as he continued, "Mrs. Patmore has outdone herself with these. I will make a special trip to the kitchen tomorrow to thank her personally."

"You mean, you will skulk down there to see if she has anymore?"

"Am I to be that predictable?"

"Of course darling" she replied, as they both laughed.

"I almost didn't see the first mince pie on the steps as Robert and I made our way to the Drawing room. It was only because Isis stopped and sniffed it. We thought the servants had dropped it. But then Cora came out and mentioned you had retired early that I spied the next two heading up the stairs."

"Think of me as the wicked witch who wants to ensnare you in her house and fatten you up, just so she can devour you."

"Oh no my love," he turned, hovering over her lithe form, as his arms came to envelope her, "it is _I_ who will have _my_ cake and _eat_ it too!" The growl that came from the back of her throat told him all he wanted to know about their feast.

**Day 8 – Tinsel and Gold**

"Book."

"Three words"

"Third word."

"One Syllable."

"Sounds like….."

"Pat?" "Wave?" "Clap?" "Bend?"

Matthew sighed with knowing. "Fold. Sounds like fold!" The quiet assertiveness of Matthew's voice rang clear through the Grand Hall, sure in the understanding that he could read almost everything that she needn't say. It had been years in learning the private language of his beautiful wife, many from the other side of the room. Until recently, where he was privileged to grace every aspect of her realm, he could read the very breath that she exhaled, her attentiveness from the way she grasped her glass, and volumes from the flex of her fingers.

With eyebrow raised, and the hint of a smirk behind her lips, she held her left hand out to the gathering and pointed to her ring finger. The pregnant pause strummed the inkling of impatience that she felt; even as she reveled in the act of The Game. The few steps that it took to reach Matthew's outstretched feet and wiggle her hand in front of his face expressed how much she relied on him to understand her.

"Oh Darling, you got married. No one told me. Perhaps we will have to remedy that!"

The little huff escaping her lips, and the way she wiggled on the spot spoke of exasperation, and when her eyes rolled it told him to just pay attention to the game at hand.

Her extended fingers waved within his immediate view, as she knew he was toying with her.

"Gold. Sounds like fold." She smiled triumphantly and clapped her hands, throwing him a glorious smile, loving him with her eyes.

"First word." Edith chimed in, curious to what would come.

Mary waved her arms in and out in the air, pointed finger to trace something from high to low.

"Tree." She nodded, with a look of concentration, and she made the sign that it was not the whole picture. Robert glanced between the pair, with unbelieving eyes that Matthew had any clue. He watched closer trying to see if they were indeed cheating somehow.

Hands next to her eyes she flicked them quickly and smiled,

"Sparkle." Again she nodded to Matthew and then with one finger arched from top to bottom with a faint and delicate fingertip. She paused and waited, breath suspended, waiting for her astute husband to venture a guess.

"Tinsel….'Tinsel and Gold' by Dion Clayton Calthrop!" It was a whisper, not from uncertainty, but from the knowledge that he was able to so clearly understand his wife on another ethereal level.

The little yelp and clap of her hands did little to draw attention away from Matthew, as many who sat in the room were confounded. He chuckled and looked askew, aware Isobel and Cora were not the only ones, even if they had thoroughly understood it before that put it down to the enigma of the love between Mary and Matthew.

"Next year Mary and Matthew should not be allowed to be on the same team. They have a distinct advantage." The petulant tone Edith cried forth saw no response except a scornful eye from Mary as she tilted her head and replied.

"Maybe next year Edith darling, you will have your own secret weapon and you will not need to steal mine."

The caustic look that Edith shot Mary may have killed bunnies, but it was her chuckling husband's handsome face that filled her eyes. She sent him a gaze of adoration and love that engulfed the room and brightened the Christmas lights, paling everyone else around them.

_Yes, he was good at reading his wife_. He would claim his prize later, within the privacy of their room.

_{Tinsel and Gold _by**Dion Clayton Calthrop **was an actual book published in** 1910}**


	3. Day 9 - 12

**Day 9 – The Music of Laughter and the Dance of Ice Skates**

(Note: time jump)

Certain sounds when made are recognized instantly. Like the crunch of boot in dry powder snow, the cut of a blade on ice, and the laughter of children. These were the unmistakable sounds that flittered through the grove and down the path to meet two lovers walking in the crisp morning sunshine.

The night had been clear and therefore cold and the icicle tipped branches that lent like reaching hands over the track protected those that walked underneath. Footprints and sled marks tattooed the white blanket in a disappearing line in front of them and they followed with purpose of stride.

The laughter wafted on the pure air, lilted and fragmented by the hush of deep snow piled around tree bases and covering tree crowns with amour. The children had always believed that Downton was made of fairytales, and while life was mostly a glorious adventure, even the scary moments were not so bad when they had each other and their extended family.

Not all here on this day cavorting in the glade were blood related, it needn't have mattered though, as they were family. Bound by time spent together, lives intertwined and inexplicably linked by the abbey. Passing years had seen the numbers grow, from the initial two little munchkins that would one day head the clan, to a mob of excitable heads that chaotically moved so quickly, somewhere down the line Carson had lost count. As long as they were all fed and watered and kept dry in winter, and bathed in summer, numbers mattered little as long as there was laughter in the halls.

"Papa, Mamma! Watch me!"

Her hand in the crook of his arm tightened, with a sharp intake of breath at the wondrous sight before them in the glade. The lake had frozen solid, and as of many years past the Crawley children danced and wove patterns with their ice skates, joined by the rest of their tribe.

"You are doing a marvelous job Christopher. Lean forward slightly."

"Tilda, make sure your brother doesn't fall over."

Matthew leaned into her side slightly without taking his eyes away from his children, chuckling. "You realize he will refuse all help. He has to learn things by himself. Remind you of anyone?"

Mary swatted his arm playfully, well aware of the nature of her children. First and matriarch, came Mathilda, minutes older than her twin William, who was head strong and proud, with a deep moral compass and an easy way of mothering all younger. Wills was the fierce protector, an insatiable learner and loyal to all his family, social graces came naturally to both, even as Will was the known prankster among them. Then came Izzy, and like her namesake she loved to nurture, argue and ruffle feathers. Alexandra in large gatherings appeared quiet and shy, but she held her own. Her love was books and the written word, and when she did converse to adults, often talked in a language more mature and intelligent than many of her elders. Her colouring and demeanor was most like Matthew's which softened Mary to her middle daughter. Christof came home with pockets filled with leaves and stones and frogs and bugs. Mary was fully aware of the amount of time he spent in the barn with all the animals, and she suspected that he would have slept in the hay under Diamond's hooves if she didn't have him fetched after dinner most nights.

A sigh escaped her lips and she had to admit that yes he was very similar to her as a child. At least she had an inkling of how to cope with what was likely to come. And the frenzy as soon there would be another Crawley baby swaddled in a basket beside their bed.

"You look like a ballerina Ester. See how graceful your cousin is Alexi, you should keep practicing."

Edith's two girls Ester and Katie came and stayed often, thrown into the chaotic mix and fitted in well with their cousins. Mary sometimes wondered if Edith enjoyed the quiet when they were gone, and sometimes she wondered what it was like to have quiet!

Anna and John's children - Jonathon, Freddie and Mammie, were inseparable from the Crawleys, as they had just always been together. They were siblings by proxy, caught up in the day to day flow of the house, never banished below stairs, and always included in all things upstairs.

This day, as diamonds sparkled in the morning light, the utter feeling of contentment that both Mary and Matthew felt whilst watching their brood ice skating, seemed exponentially heightened by the words Mary whispered next.

"Who would have thought fifteen years ago that we would have created something as monumental as this?" The glow on her face radiated love and joy at the sight before them.

"I think our legacy to Downton will live on in epic proportions for a long stretch into the future."

"I think we are still adding to the multitude of legacies that Downton will house."

He turned to her then, his hand hovering over the soft swell under her thick coat. Startled eyebrows raised with the question, "…multitude….of legacies….?"

At least years of understanding their cryptic way of communicating had paid off in this instant. "Call it a hunch!"

"Crikey Mary!...not one of your hunches yet has been proven wrong." His fingers rubbed the crease between eyes, even as she laughed at his bewilderment.

"I don't think that two more will make any difference at this point." And she rubbed his shoulders as they watched and listened to a cacophony of young laughter rising into the snowy abyss cut by the sound of blades cutting ice.

**Day 10 – A Parallel of Frosts**

(Same time frame as Day 9)

"Mary…?" His voice was low in question and soft in caress, as he turned to her eyes wide in understanding.

The slowness in which she met his gaze, and looked down and away, the softest and achingly beautiful smile that hinted at her mouth, told Matthew all he needed to know. He had woken with the soft light through the windows to see his wife standing, her pale silk gown billowing around her blossomed form, clutching at the window sill. Her other hand lay tucking up the fabric on the underside of her belly instinctually supporting that which lay within.

She had woken before dawn lying breathlessly anticipating how her body had begun to talk to her.

_Are you ready? _

_We are more than ready…._

The twinges deep and low in her uterus were unmistakable; she had been through this enough times to decipher a difference in phantom pains and real labour. She also knew what was to lie ahead. The excitement, the anticipation, the effort and the tiredness of it all. And she wondered at the toll it would leave on her body this time. Five pregnancies and seven children in twelve years, _a good effort_ Matthew had chuckled, and his faith restored after so many tribulations before their very first.

The heat within her burnt as her heart tried to pump her blood to all her vital organs in starting this marathon. In rising and making her way over to the window, the glass fogged from the cool outside and the warmth of their nest within. On instinct she had cracked the window open to breath the crisp air and rid her mind of cobwebs. She craved the clarity it would bring, and the scourging of mind to focus on the task at hand.

It was the dawn that purified her. The black secrets of night softening to a hushed grey and the peak of the new sun crested and blazed in blue and the glittering promises like memories lay on the lawn before the abbey.

"There's a frost this morning," she turned then to her husband in their bed, "like when the twins were born. Rather fitting wouldn't you say?"

Matthew held out his hand, beckoning to her as he shifted in bed, smiling whilst pulling himself up against the headboard.

She paused with a sharp intake of breath as the wave of pain rippled across her taut skin. Her belly so much larger than any of her other pregnancies visibly contorted as the babes inside jostled for position. Matthew recognized all too well the struggle that washed over his stoic wife's face, and reached quickly to pull the bell for Anna.

She reached for him in the bed, her breath deepening, to curl in front of him between his legs and his arms encircled her. She rested her head back onto his shoulder feeling safe and calm even as both of their hearts matched rhythms, aware that their two souls had clicked into one. His lips grazed her jawline, conscious that now her labour had commenced his touch needed to be extra tender.

His whispered confession into her ear made her heart swell. "…more than I ever have."

"I know, my darling. Me too." Her husky voice cracked slightly with emotion.

Her hands covered his large and strong ones and moved them down onto her protruding mountain. She lay back within his embrace and physically relaxed as his palms and fingertips went to work, stroking, rubbing, caressing and soothing. They had been here before, and the knowledge that he could bring her some comfort at this hour kept his mind steady and his heart unhindered. He had always been at her side through every one of the children's deliveries, even in the beginning when it had taken days.

The light knock on the door before Anna appeared drew them out of their reverie, and the scullery maid clambered after to stroke the fire. Anna observed from the corners of her vision a familiar sight that suddenly snapped her mind into gear, as she placed the tea tray onto the sideboard. She turned to open the remaining curtains noting the coolness of the open window. On turning Matthew caught her eye and they shared an understanding built of years working together. His face held an apologetic smile as he cradled his wife, knowing Mary was in need of Anna as much himself.

"Milady….?" It was a greeting, a question, a reassurance.

"I think you had better call the doctor Anna. I have a feeling we have two very eager little munchkins," she breathed slowly again, her eyes closed, "….more so than Christof!"

Anna physically started at that, understanding the meaning impeccably. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her, as she made her way to the door.

"Drink some tea Mary, and a bite of toast. You will need it." Her quiet command to the scullery maid to stoke the fire into a blaze of heat to warm the room suddenly sent the electricity through the house.

"Anna…." As her maid paused at the door, knob in hand. "Can you wake the children and ask them to come in so I can tell them?"

"Straight away, milady," lapsing back into protocol. And as she closed the door, Matthew heard her running down the hall and a soft calling for Mosely. The house would now be set into perpetual motion, with everyone set to different tasks to complete hurriedly, ready for the new arrivals.

"Are you sure Mary? The children don't have to be brought in now."

"I _am_ sure. I will give each of them a kiss and tell them I love them, just like every other time. And especially now. They deserve that, and it will settle my heart." His nod confirmed he understood. It was a gift and a goodbye, incase…..The thought was banished instantly, every time it crept in.

…

The translucent covering of moisture that had hardened overnight in the cold to a glittering frost had hardly begun to melt when two strong cries, minutes apart, had rung through the halls of the abbey. Frost indicated the changing of the seasons and on this day that woke with an opaque covering of amour on every blade of grass, melted, like hearts in the abbey to a magnificent day. Like the grounds outside, the house was reborn again.

And the whispers, like the golden falling leaves, uttered _Viola_ and _Vincent_.

**Day 11 – A sleigh to gingerbread**

(Present canon day)

"Tell me again Mary why we are braving the cold and the snow covered roads at such an early hour?" He trailed her out the main doors and past Carson into the clear morning. The spicy sent of baked goods wafting from the basket in her hands, making his mouth water.

"Have you really stopped listening to the things I say? Really Matthew, already!" His wife's usual demeanor at such an early hour replaced by a light playfulness.

"You'll need to refresh me, as I think that I was a little distracted last night. Might have something to do with how my wife was clothed." He held his hand out to assist her up into the sleigh, "….or not."

The crooked smile that graced her lips spoke of the memory, "Well I will remember that for next time I want you to agree to help me!"

They both laughed as Matthew sat next to her and she covered their legs with a thick woolen blanket. He hesistated as he took up the reigns, searching his memory for the last time that he had driven a horse and cart, or in this case, horse and sleigh.

Mary placed her hand on his arm, gazing at his face as she saw him struggle with insecurity at steering the contraption.

"I can….if you would like? Each year when there is snow, I have taken the sleigh down to the schoolhouse. It's just a matter of staying on the road."

With head shaking and a sharp intake of air he flicked the reigns and the sturdy work horse trotted on. The jingle of bells beat a tune to the rhythm of the horse's gait, filling the hushed air.

"Now you really have to tell me what all this is in aid of."

"When we were little, Mama made us take a basket filled with gingerbread biscuits down to the schoolhouse just before Christmas. I'm not sure if was just her American-ness or if she knew that many of the children didn't receive treats even at this time of year. The bells are definitely her idea, Lynch keeps saying that they are good if the weather closes in, but I am unsure."

"And now, you take the biscuits down?"

Mary turned to face him, realizing that he had never known the full extent of her yearly charity. Her excitement overtook her shyness at explaining and she continued.

"I offered Mama after my debutant ball to take them for her. It has fallen into my hands every year since."

"All by yourself?"

"Edith has never come with me, but that wouldn't surprise you." Mary paused as she was suddenly aware that this would be another time that she would miss her younger sister, "Sibyl often came." She smiled sadly at Matthew as his look of concern showed that he too felt bereft of her absence.

"But now I have you, and I rather think that you will be cheered by it." They leaned into one another, content to have the other's company on this bright day filled with Christmas cheer.

"We cover the Christmas tree in the school room with gingerbread on string, before the children come in for their last lessons. Mrs. Patmore's biscuits have become famous and the children are delighted every year by the giant shapes. It really is only a small thing that we do, but it has become something I cherish every year. " She shrugged, trying to make it a small thing.

"It's lovely Mary, and I am glad to be accompanying you. Even if my sleigh driving is a little to be desired."

And to prove his point the sleigh bumped violently over something under the snow. Mary harrumphed as the bottom of her stomach dropped just as Matthew chuckled at the irony.

**Day 12 – Set My Cognac on Fire**

It licked her nose, tickled her nostrils and intoxicated her lungs. It made her heady and wanting and needy. There was the tug at her memory of lips and tongues and sweet something's, and how those temptations would invariably lead to the exploration of new and exciting destinations. Uncharted, discovered, revisited, revised and completely reborn. Where all their senses became overwhelmed and bodies responded in a wave of drugged ecstasy.

Her hooded eyes gazed at him across the room, oblivious to the conversations around them. The air was thick with the smells of her husband; even in a room full of people she could distinguish him. It excited her and the pulse that tapped to the world inside her chest quickened. The movement in the room however slowed down, the gulf between them seemingly a yearning space.

The invisible red thread that connected them tugged and Matthew felt the call of her eyes. He turned whilst Robert was midsentence and caught all that she said. Words would have seemed so crude and harsh to put a name to that which passed between them. It was the tilt of her jaw, the grace of her hands in her lap, the forward inclination of her shoulders, the softness of her smile. He read it and understood, and wondered what had brought it on. The question Robert called him back to attention with was lost on him and he had asked him to repeat it.

Time throbbed until slowly the family broke up and retired for the evening. Mary had stayed seated, making no move to head upstairs, and as Matthew, still standing from Edith's departure, cocked his head in question, Mary responded with the slightest shake of her jaw.

The chink of crystal on glass narrowed her focus as Matthew made for his favourite arm chair aware he was being watched. She resisted the temptation of rushing to him, playing with the need that coursed through the air between them.

Finally he could not wait any further, reaching his arm for her and wiggling his fingers in invitation. A flush of heat washed over her face and down into her core, her eyes lowered to the floor, glazed with desire. He smiled at the elegant way she stood and floated across the carpet, noting her fidgeting hands and the way the corners of her mouth danced.

Their fingers entwined and he pulled her into his lap, a comfort often indulged in the privacy of their room. The deep breath she took filled her being, the brandy sniffer so close to her lips. But she paused and lifted her gaze to Matthew, allowing him to read the depths of her need. It was his lips that caressed the glass edge and swilled it in his mouth.

There remained no room for thought and the heat of impulse took over. Her mouth was warm and her lips searched for the path that led somewhere. Her tongue found the fuel, a burning mixture of passion and cognac. Hands found their way into hair, gripping jawlines for control in a maddening decent into bliss. Once in breaking apart to suck lungs full of air, he noticed the glass still in his hand and quickly downing the last of the golden liquid, placed it on the edge of the chair. She dove into his mouth again, her desire heightened by such an intimate gesture, as he swept her up and headed for the stairs.


	4. Day 13 - 16

**_Day 13 – The Colour of Spiced Wine_**

(Medieval AU M/M)

"I must say you have terrific aim."

Mary spun around in her saddle to glare at him unsure whether he was jesting or paying her a compliment. "I rarely miss my mark."

The air hung in clouds of white as it escaped their wind slapped faces. The angle of the thin sun cresting the mountains showed late afternoon, meaning the hunting party had long been out since just after dawn. Slow jolting hooves hit cobble stones as they made their way into the court yard, aching muscles and weary heads longing for warmth and comfort.

Mary slid easily from her saddle quite before she had reigned in her mount, leaving Matthew's hand outstretched and empty as the bulk of the party made to follow her into the castle. His eyes were drawn upward to the four rounded towers, gleaming white in the low sunlight and pointing to heaven, wondering what the walls held within.

The gathering in the main hall huddled around the fires talking animatedly about who killed what and how many. Platters of food were brought, along with beverages and Matthew suddenly noticed how parched the day had left him.

His gait belied how eagerly he wanted to cross the space and join Lady Mary's side, but he found her circled by a handful of men, suitors and envious married men, all vying for her attention. She felt his gaze, and her body acted of its own accord to lock eyes through all the chaos and noise and mayhem around them. The space between them hushed and time slowed to exaggerate how their bodies conversed with only each other.

A cup was thrust into Matthew's hand and the spell was broken as Lord Grantham slapped him on the back full of the day's praise for the hunt. He looked into the mug expecting ale, and yet it was rich and dark and warm. He pulled a mouthful from the tankard and relished the sweet spiciness.

"I'm quite proud that you landed the largest stag Matthew. Such a feat I must say. The game keeper is at him as we speak and the antlers will be ready for you to take on your leave. You mustn't rush off now though, as heir I would very much like you to stick around after all the other guests have left. Stay awhile. You must get to know what one day you will inherit and how you may manage it!"

He acquiesced with a bow, murmuring how he would bid it please Lord Grantham. Robert was having no formalities with names and insisted on his being called by his first as he strode over to some other fellow Lords in the hall.

So it was with a back to the room as he warmed his hands to the flickering fire that he was prodded with an elbow that almost sent him reeling. "You need more spiced wine. It will dull the monotone of all these ghastly Lords and Barons and give you a decidedly different perspective on how to impart your wisdom to my father."

"It seems your father may be taking me into his fold after all. He has invited me to stay on at Downton after the hunting has concluded."

"Dear Matthew, we all have taken you into our fold. Or is it you feel neglected and I therefore need to show you?" She cocked her head to the side and her shoulders rocked to and fro.

"Don't play with me Mary. May I remind you of all the things that you have deemed appropriate to convey to me since I have arrived?"

"What have I always told you never pay attention to the things I say?" She paused for effect and sipped the warm wine. "Now drink up milord for you will need some courage for the night ahead."

He had never thought that he had lacked courage but he was intrigued as to what she had implied and unconsciously did as she bid. His clear translucent eyes captured her shade of dark, and he asked the question within them. The firelight flickered gold and he was reminded that her eyes held more wealth than any conceivable jewel.

"We will have feasting," she continued, "and there will be courtship through dancing, and _we_ will celebrate the skill of the kill," her hand rested on the upper part of his arm drawing his attention away from what she alluded to.

"And my courage is needed before then end of the night?"

"More likely, before the break of dawn!" The way that it was whispered hinted at how auspicious it may become.

"Well then, I may need a better tour of the castle before we change for feasting, so that I don't get lost. Will you provide that for me?"

"Such good luck Matthew, but I am indeed already late for my bath, and cold water just would not do. But…" her body leant into his as she wiggled her fingers towards the flames, "I do hear that the tower with the deep red furnishings, are the most _inviting_ in _all_ of Downton!"

A chuckle escaped his lips as he watched her turn, the smoldering look over her shoulder deepened with a quiet challenge.

"Keep in mind darling Matthew, every man who has tried to breach my stronghold has died in the attempt. Consider it a forewarning."

And Mary in her sweeping burgundy woolen dress floated up the stairs towards her rooms, high in a tower, as hungry eyes followed her ascent.

**_Day 14 – Sprigs of Peppermint_**

(Medieval M/M, this continues from Day 13, read it first for context)

The room from his tower on the east wing looked out over the mountains thick with forest. There were swathes of bright colour dotted within the deep greens of the estate. The sun had cast peachy fuzz throughout, delighting shepherds and game keepers to expect a clear and gallant day next.

Matthew leaned forward through his window to gain a better perspective of the setting sun, eager to catch it one last time before it hid beyond their realm. The stone was aged, and weathered, corners smoothed with time and the elements. His hand sought the cracks as his body hung over the edge, and the flickering of movement arrested his attention from his peripheral vision. It was not the pennant flags high on the roof, or the occasional guard on duty, it was lush and heavy and soft and waved in beckoning. Her words rung clear,

_"I do hear that the tower with the deep red furnishings, are the most inviting…"_

_Like a red cape to the bull_. Matthew thought. _Yes, I may be hot blooded and eager to stick my horns into that red velvet, but I will not be the one sacrificed tonight!_

His nimble feet and strong fingers quickly aided his traverse of the wall and parapet that lay like a bridge between the two towers. Years in the art of escaping looming walls to the openness of woods and waters had served him well in confidence of such a feat.

Voices wafted from the window with red velvet curtains, women chatting in the process of some domestic action. He slowed his movements as he softly landed on her balcony, hidden by the wafting material, keen to keep out of sight. The noise of water splashing whipped his head around and his hand reached for the drapes.

"Thank you Anna, the water is divine. I think this will ease my aching limbs and cleanse my mind."

"Will I wash your hair Milady?"

"Yes. Please Anna. Tonight may well be very special!" she sighed as she continued, "I'm afraid I will need to be on my best behaviour tonight though, or papa will be so overwhelmed with excitement that he will crow from the rooftops and make a plaudit announcement at dinner."

"We need extra towels, Milady. I'll be back in a minute." Anna made for the door and hurriedly skipped down the stairs.

The scented bath was working magic as Mary rested her head back and closed her eyes. Her body sunk deep under the water covering her head, wetting her hair and washing away the days ride. The water milky with soap suds and sprigs of peppermint floating on the surface created the effect of a mermaid in a pond. A water nymph clad only in long lush hair, the curvature of her breasts breaking the surface of the water.

She started as fingers lifted her wet hair into a ball and started rubbing the cake of green minty soap over the strands. The routine act the same, and yet somehow different.

"Oh Anna, you were quick, I didn't hear you come back in."

The hands deftly and gently massaged her hair, rubbing the slipperiness through the length of her locks and came back up to caress her scalp. Mary purred in satisfaction, the drug of the bath, the heat and how relaxed she felt at this moment emanated from her very being. A smile played at the corners of her mouth. Her mind wondered to what lay ahead this evening and how she may hopefully get what she wanted.

_Matthew Crawley. The heir. My Champion. My lover._

The broad finger pads pulled the length of her tresses tenderly, eradicating any knots. Fingers dragged nails from the front of her forehead back to her neck eliciting a gasp of pleasure and a shiver down her spine at the tortuous feeling. Slowly the long length of her hair was placed over her shoulder, covering her breasts, and she sunk back under the water to rinse.

As Mary stood and turned in the bath the door opened as Anna, a pile of towels in hand, stopped to look at her dripping mistress.

"Oh Anna, a towel quickly, the air is cold."

"But Milady, your hair?"

"You have worked wonders. You must not show my sisters that new trick; I will never have you to my own again. And they will want you to wash their hair every day!"

"But, Milady….. I have only just got back?"

The look of disbelief on Mary's face as she swept the towel around her closer and rushed towards the balcony, conveyed little to that of her beating heart. It was empty, as expected and the night had enveloped the castle with secrecy. Maybe the plans to her challenge had already been laid.

….

"You are a very accomplished dancer Matthew."

"Why thank you Lady Mary. I have always been very light on my feet!"

"And quiet. You were able to get very close to the stag today at the hunt."

"Well, I love the challenge of getting in close proximity before I go in for the kill." He chuckled then, unable to hide the double meaning.

The music strummed from the band of players in the corner. Many were too full from feasting, or too drunk to entertain themselves with actual dancing, except a few.

Matthew and Mary raised palms to touch and twirl again around each other. Their eyes were locked, like much of the night, oblivious to those around them, as they spun and wove so close and yet for them, at this point not close enough. This was more than two dancers in the hall. This was two pasts colliding in this present, which will furthermore be entwined in the future.

"And do you ever miss, after coming so close?"

"Never. But there has been occasion where I have paused, and realized that it may be better to take what I want at a later date."

Her breath hitched in her chest, as his words made her heart skip a beat. She was close enough to see he had shaved the shadow of his beard that was there earlier, and his hair seemed softer, calling her fingers to pull through it.

She quickly changed tact, needing a distraction from the thoughts that made her cheeks flush. "And as papa pointed out tonight so elucidatory, will you be a creature of duty to Downton as his heir?"

"I think that your question needs to be dissected to be truthfully answered." One of his hands rested on her lower back as the other entwined with hers closer to his shoulder, the music soft and the candlelight winked on the edges of the room.

"Will I be dutiful as a son should, I hope so. Will I be dutiful in providing my own line of sons, I have faith. Will I be dutiful to what my heart sings, I am sure? Will I be a dutiful and faithful husband; of this I have no doubt. Will I dutifully ask my lover to be my wife...?" His sentence broken by a flurry of movement in timing with the music.

"Yes…." She was breathless in urging him to answer, wanting to hear his confession.

He pulled her closer, as they danced, wanting his body to tell her, the smile on his lips. "First, Mary, I need to find a lover."

Her eyes closed at his declaration, and her body responded with fire. The heat coursing through their points of contact. Promising the desire was real and within this clasped space.

His nose nestle above her ear, deep in her hair, his cheek caressing hers. The smell of peppermint fresh like open fields, herbaceous like the woods, and pure like the banks of glacier melt.

His resolve slipped as she filled his senses. "Oh God Mary, you are a bewitching woman! I want to unbraid your hair and see it cascade around your face."

The smallest movement back allowed her to look into his eyes, retorting with the sudden reminder and calling him out. "I would have thought Matthew Crawley that you already had!" Indignation may have coated her reply; she however wanted to see how he would squirm his way out of this one.

"I was in fact quite distracted by your breasts!" _Two could play this game._

A surprised exclamation escaped as she pulled away and thrust her arms at him, vaguely causing him to step back. She strode to the dining tables, close to her family, briefly glancing over her shoulder with golden light in her eyes. She caught his playful smile, and it tugged at her heart.

They both knew that this night, he would again dance across the parapet to find the room with the billowing red velvet drapes. And she would make sure there were sprigs of peppermint in between her sheets.

**_Day 15 – Fires Burned on this Twelfth Night_**

(Medieval M/M – follows from Day 12 &13, read first for context)

Firelight touched her skin, burning golden as the flames licked in the fireplace. The gigantic logs alight, as tendrils danced roaring up the chimney, sparks like desire wafting in the plume. It warmed the room and made the stone radiate, adding the only source of light to illuminate her bedroom.

Matthew's fingers traced lines on her back as he read her code, a constellation of freckles.

"Milord," Mary contentedly whispered, her voice thick with sated desire. "You study me with such scrutiny, like one of papa's maps."

"I find what lies before me far more interesting than anything that Cousin Robert throws at me." He paused as his fingers dragged with direction down her back. "And to be fair, I must say that I am finding myself more comfortable knowing my way around this map." His hand hovered in the cleft at the base of her spine as he thought of all the ways that they had been discovering each other.

The dark cloud of her hair shifted and her face peaked from underneath. "Maybe I shall call you Pirate Crawley; you certainly have discovered and pillaged my treasure!" The arch of her brow was suggestive and alluring both. The tickles of laughter played at the deep recesses of her being. "Or will you become the morally astute young knight that I had presumed you were all along."

"I thought, Lady Mary that you were one that rebelled against that which you were bid?"

"Ay, but I am afraid that you may bare the wroth of my father, as much as I, if I am demanded to explain one of the consequences of our behaviour!" They chuckled at the image of Robert learning of their dalliance in that untoward fashion.

"Very well Milady, I had expected to do this, months ago, but while we are here…" Matthew made to get up, his naked torso gleamed in the firelight, muscles rippling as the gift to Mary of his prize deer skin slipped lower…Mary rolled over grabbing his arms to pull him down next to her.

"No wait Matthew!" Fingers wrapped around the back of his neck as she brought her mouth teasingly close. "This night before and after this singular moment is sacred. I will however prefer not to repeat an image to my parents of your proposal with how godly divine and unclothed we were at the time. I swear to you on this twelfth night, by the branding of fire on our yule log that next year we will sit together in front this fireplace as man and wife."

Dark eyes searched for shades of light, her hands cupped his face and fingered his hair. Her expression was raw with the naked look of love she bared. He read her, his proud and reserved Mary lay vulnerably before him, his passionate and beautiful lover trusted him enough to let him singularly, witness her pure self.

He groaned as he succumbed to her spell "Oh Mary….!"

They came together rapidly; lips crashing to melt in heat, desire raced over mountains, dipped in valleys, glided over ridges and discovered new and unfamiliar places. They both became the adventurer, the conqueror and the reigning deity.

When the deepest of night eased toward the dawn, he whispered his intent and that he would talk to her father that same day. Her sleepy lids watched as he untangled limbs to make for the fireplace. Before stoking it back to life, he pulled a half burnt log from it, the size of his forearm and placed it on the side of the grate.

And so began the cycle of their future, like traditions thousands of year's old, as pagan druids started the solstice fire on the shortest night of the year with the yule log from the previous year. Keeping the fires alight for twelve nights until the magi came baring gifts.

**_Day 16 – The Sharing of Gingerbread Day_**

_(Modern Au)_

"Mary, you find the biscuit cutters and I will pull out the flour and butter." Anna stared at the noise that came from the pantry which sounded like a car wreckers.

"Thank god, I found them!" Mary emerged brandishing said gingerbread men cutters. They looked a little worse for wear, and yet that was the attraction as one leg was skinnier, a head slightly crooked and a hand indented to look like it was giving a thumbs' up. Anna's brow furrowed as she took stock.

"That hand is Will's doing, he claimed it looked super cool!"

"Don't let Cora see that, she would be horrified at the maiming of her special American cutters!"

Mary contorted at the suggestion as she moved around the kitchen assorting the rest of the ingredients and plugging in the bench top mixer. "It wouldn't surprise me if she praised Will for his individuality and let it pass." The cutters had been especially flown over from a famous American East Coast cookie company, and presented as a gift to Mary and Matthew the year that the twins, Tilda and Will had their first Christmas. Tradition now dictated that copious amount of gingerbread were made (and feeding seven plus Anna's three children did indeed mean copious!) and given as Christmas offerings to each child's teacher the last day of school before Christmas Holidays.

Mary had enticed Anna to join in the frenzy of baking when their eldest children had reached school age. Wine and loud music soon became the norm as Isobel often took the younger children out to play, leaving the biscuit queens to rule the kitchen. This year meant the younger of Mary and Matthew's twins, Viola and Vincent were the last to graduate to gingerbread school status.

"So how many batches are there this year, Mary, I seem to have lost count?"

"Ten kids, twelve batches, but I have bought enough for fifteen just in case we burn any of them!" Butter was piled high to prove the point.

"Good god, this will be a full day affair. I might boil the kettle first so we can start with engines roaring!" Anna's eyes scanned the bench aware how precisely they would have to work as a team to ensure smooth running. Years of practice meant they were a well oiled machine.

"I'll put the ovens on; this might be the one time in the year that I am grateful we put in two ovens when we renovated!"

…..

The door opened unexpectedly, distracting the women from the sticky and buttery shapes in front of them.

"Is that biscuits I smell…..?" Matthew walked into the kitchen, head bent over his iPhone, and stopped abruptly as his eyes lifted to the chaotic scene in the kitchen. Mary brushed a stray hair off her forehead smudging even more flour into her hairline. The piping bag of icing delicately perched in her other, icing escaping in a thin stream. Anna seemed not to notice the buttery dough in a streak down her cheek and both had aprons covered in a light dusting of flour. In fact the room may have been hazy with the hint of flour in the air.

He lifted his phone and quickly snapped a shot of the domesticated women, laughing as he scrolled down and clicked.

"Matthew Crawley! If you post that on twitter, you will be sleeping in the guest bedroom for the next week!" Her lifted brow showed him how serious she was.

He answered laughing walking to the bench, "My beautiful darling flour covered wife. I would never do such a thing!" Her snort belied the belief she had in him. "I just thought that John should witness such a spectacle….." Matthew had to quickly duck as Anna's oven mitt sailed through the air in the direction of his head. He continued as he straightened up, "I thought I would come home for lunch and work on one of my case reports here, but I seem to have forgotten it was Gingerbread Day. So how about I make some sandwiches for us and then help you out….somehow?" He looked at their production line and tried to figure what he may be good at.

….

Mary noticed when Matthew came back to the kitchen that he had changed from his tailored suit into a polo shirt and jeans, his bare feet poking from underneath, warmed by the heated floor. She dragged her eyes away, shaking her head at how easily she became distracted when her husband was in the room. He tied a stripy apron on, chef style, and opened the fridge to start their sandwiches.

He placed the sandwich and a steaming cup of tea next to each lady knowing full well that they would not stop to sit at the dining table. He glanced beyond all the bowls of icing and cooling racks to see where they were at. Mary bent over a wreath of overlapping gingerbread men, their holding hands gluing them together. She worked quickly over the men, icing painted on to create detail in various shades of festive colours bringing them to life and establishing personality.

"These are amazing Mary, they are literary works of art. I don't know how the teachers are going to want to eat them…..maybe I shall have to try….." Mary's reflexes were fine-tuned after dealing with seven pairs of hands for years trying to sneak things from the bench top. She swatted it lovingly away, just as she reached to give him a sugary kiss in thanks.

"I seem to have become slightly overenthusiastic in the decorating department, let's just put it down to years of practice! I am afraid Christof may be a little disappointed though; I can't say I can pull off Hobbits very well! What do you think?"  
She pointed her elbow in the direction of one circle of 'hobbits' and saw him blink in disbelief. "I thought so," sighing in resignation of a job thwarted.

"Matthew, roll your sleeves up man, and come and put this cutter to good use!" The barked order from Anna got him finally moving.

…..

The three worked companionly in silence, as music aided in their endeavor. Abba, Pink Floyd, David Bowie, Joni Mitchell and Matthew's favourite the Rolling Stones pulsed through the surround sound as they opened a bottle of wine, each at their assigned task.

"How many have we done?" Mary stretched her back lifting the large glass of wine to her lips. Anna hummed to the tune as she counted and stuck up eight fingers. They all sighed then knowing that they were not quite there, and took a couple of sips to fuel the last part of the marathon. Her hips wiggled of their own accord, lost in translation to the ancient beat of music. Matthew smiled as he noticed the typical style of wiggle that embodied his Mary of young, the one that he fell so hard for.

….

The chaotic thundering of an invading clan of Crawley's and Bates' interrupted the peaceful harmony of the kitchen.

"I've got it." Matthew made for the door just as he watched Anna and Mary look at the other realizing what the time must be.

His body barricaded the opening door, as a seething mass of bodies fell through noses ribbing the fragrant air.

"Stop at once! You hoard of scoundrels!" It was not only his presence but also his appearance that halted the children. Squeals of delight and hugs abounded with hands flapping toward the tray of gingerbread men on the tray he held.

John stood behind them all, rumbling with laughter, an apology of sorts on his face. He regularly picked them all up from school, but rarely had they been this unruly.

"Nice skirt papa!" Will stood just inside the door eyeing his father with scorn.

"Thanks my son, one day you may wear the skirt in this family." His hand flourished stylishly down his leg, "This may be all yours."

"I think Darling" Mary piped up from the other side of the room, "that you are right. It is _I_ that wear the pants in this family!" There was laughter all round as she continued, "_And_ you will find that it is Tilda who inherits it!"

"I am the oldest papa." The roll of her eyes reminded Matthew exactly of her mother and he tweaked her nose with affection.

"This I have known since the day you were born and which means you have great responsibility…..looking after your siblings and Batesy's mob." The tray of biscuits was thrust into her hand to ensure that everyone was delegated their fair share.

"Papa, can we help?" Viola and Vince clung to his legs; their blonde heads looked eagerly up at him.

"Sure, why don't you come and do the dishes?"

Anna laughed as the young twins scampered out the room as fast as lightening after the older children and the promise of a biscuit.

….

After an emergency makeshift dinner of pasta to feed the masses, calmness descended over the gathering. Tilda tied ribbon through the wreaths, John helped Will wrap them carefully in cellophane, under the scrutiny of Anna, whilst Christof and Mammie cut sticky tape for them. Jonathon sat on the floor with Viola and Vince pushing the flat-pack cardboard baker's trays ready for the final carrying to school. It was Matthew elbow deep in suds as he passed clean dishes to Alexi, Freddie and Izzy that completed the cozy domesticated scene. Anna refilled their glasses as she sat at the breakfast counter kicking off her shoes. The look of happiness as Mary passed Matthew his glass, grabbed and arrested their hearts. As life was one moment a whirlwind, another could be contented as this.

Matthew toasted the air towards his beautiful wife, the woman who had brought their seven precious children into the world, and showed them every day how to be loving and loyal and honest. And who each year showed her children that it was not what you had, or how much you spent on gifts or the wealth the family had. But the energy you put into things to share with people. It was the act of giving and the thought and loving that went into it that counted.

_Yes_, he thought to himself as he worshiped his wife, _she was more than I could have possibly imagined she would be, even with icing through her hair and spicy crumbs coating her skin._


	5. Day 17 - 20

**_17 – The Beating of Time_**

(_The Christmas of 1920_)

"Merry Christmas Matthew!" Her lips brushed the side of his cheek tenderly as her hand ran down his arm lightly caressing his wrist unintentionally. He shivered at the intimate touch in front of everyone and a smile crept widely on his face at thoughts of their lazy morning.

"Thank you Mary," he said "but I am sure it is not as delightful as what you have already given me?"

The roll of her eyes questioned the appropriateness of such utterings here in the library in front of everyone, and whether it was either the good morning kiss she had possessively bestowed on him or the arrival soon of their little prince she was unsure. Such sentimentality was more Matthew's forte, although she wondered if perhaps he may be rubbing off on her after all.

She gracefully sat on the arm of his chair as he delicately began at the gold embossed paper.

"It is not to replace, but to give you an alternative." Mary had a way of sometimes preempting an explanation as a way of expressing her motives. Matthew grew all the more curious at her cryptic words.

She watched his childlike enthusiasm, interpreting his behaviour from an insider's perspective. They were excitingly aware how this first Christmas together had already been rich with beginnings and the prickling of newness. Mary had agonized over a present for him, laying sleepless some nights racking her brain to find something most suitable. She wanted to give a piece of her, to be useful and a quintessential representation of this first momentous year of marriage. She watched Matthew for hints and clues and it wasn't until a trip to London that it all finally clicked into place.

The time that it had taken to choose what to give, far outweighed that which it took to actually choose it. The additional details though took an extra couple of weeks, and it had been delivered only last week.

As the paper came off Matthew took a deep breath, and Mary in her heightened state of anticipation, held hers. A glancing thought fluttered through her consciousness that perhaps he may not like it after all. She loved it, but would he? And then it was gone as he opened the box.

"Oh Mary…." He found no words that could adequately express the rush of feelings inside his being.

He fingered the large classic face of the watch, numbers Roman numeral style and filigree hands ticking round. The dark chocolate leather band reminded him of her eyes dark with desire in the middle of the night, as he pulled it from the box. The heavy weight foreign to his hands, as his father's watch was all he had known. The dips and crevices on the back of the metal drew his attention and he flipped it over to investigate.

_To Princes and Kingdoms_

His hand came up slightly and found its way beneath the calf length hem of her skirt, the bend of her knee accepted his caress, his hand hidden. He had reached for her involuntarily, needing to make contact with the closest part of their bodies.

Mary watched as his fingers traced the words engraved on the back and saw his eyes caught by the band. Head turning to read the embossed words on the inside of the leather, the skipping of his heart beat made his body start and he drew in breath like memories of what lay underneath.

Their eyes clashed and stole a depth of understanding, overflowing with the love that finally they could show, the acknowledgement that they were two people sharing one joined soul. His eyes held moisture for her to grow, and hers held heat to keep him warm, and between them, as her long fingers tugged at his hand and placed it palm up touching her rounded abdomen, lay what they would both nurture.

She delicately curled the band around his wrist, pressing lightly on the inside feeling his pulse, as she whispered to him "_With every breath, Me too_"

**_18 – The Red Thread That Binds Us_**

_(Canon 1920)_

"Where am I and where is my wife?"

"She got married to a soppy middle class lawyer and turned into a breeding vessel for his heir. Now ring for some tea and distract me from pricking my finger." A tired sigh fell into the room, her toe tapping the carpet lightly.

He pulled the bell cord and made his way over to the settee next to her. "In all the years that I have known you, which I might add is almost a third of my life, I have never seen you with a thread and needle in your hand! Have you succumbed to an idle life of domestic bliss, or should I be worried that that there is something else afoot?"

"I am completely enamored with our little prince here," her hand rubbed her swollen figure to prove her affection, "and have taken the prospect of motherhood rather seriously. Therefore I have undertaken to embroider the front of his Christmas stocking for next year."

"Well, Mary you do surprise me. I wasn't completely sure embroidery was in you?"

"You know I hate to be predictable. Of course my governess tried to make me master it," Mary sighed again at the drudgery of her governess' instructions, "but I am afraid I tended to engage in more challenging pursuits."

"Let me guess," he chuckled "Hooves and hounds and Greek mythology?"

"And the fine art of camouflage!"

He looked at her work so far, "It seems quite fine?"

"Well thank you husband. Your words give me faith. But you are able to see this is progressing relatively slowly."

Matthew had to agree with her there, the red stitching had only covered a miniscule amount of the boarder at the top. He smiled that he might have the solution to her problem. He wondered if he could put it delicately enough for his wife to even consider it.

"Perhaps, when you have finished the boarder, and you feel uncomfortable sitting for long periods, you may ask Cora, or Mother to add something on there as well. For prosperity. I am sure they would love to contribute to any grandchild's stocking."

He smiled gently as he patted her knee affectionately as he handed her work back.

The concise knock on the door as Anna arrived with a tea tray already bucked Mary up from her testy mood.

"Ah, Anna. Perfect timing for me to take a break."

"Too many breaks Milady and that stocking won't be finished before the little one is grown and leaves home!"

The three laughed together, at her obvious lack of enthusiasm.

"Thanks to Matthew I may be let off the hook." The stocking put aside, as tea warmed the cockles of her heart, she leaned back relishing that she would not have to endure too many more needle punctures.

**_19 – The Duopoly of Christmas Feasting_**

_(Canon 1920)_

The smoked trout hors-d'oeuvres turned her stomach.

The thought of the texture of the salmon mousse made her want to gag.

The turkey meat was too rich and too fatty and she managed a couple of bites.

The stuffing almost went down without a fight, although there were too many complexities of flavours in it.

The peas without gravy slid down quickly, but there were only so many scoops of peas one could take.

The boiled potatoes were a tad better, but they dripped too much herbed butter and Mrs. Patmore had only cooked so many for each person.

The acidity of the wine burnt the back of her throat and she had taken to not drinking much anyway.

The Christmas pudding, steaming hot straight from the kitchen, reeked of too much brandy and sickly sweet from fruit. The heated custard that she poured over to hide the taste only clogged her throat.

The fresh fruit sitting in the middle of the table looked appealing, but then the pear was not in season and the texture was chalky and distasteful. Everything else seemed coated in sugar.

Later the sherry in her hand made her stomach quiver and feel full all at once and Granny commented then how tired she looked.

_If she only knew, _Mary thought_ that the nurturing of this little prince had utterly taken over her body and distracted her mind._

The slight slump in her posture indicated to her husband that she was indeed ready to retire upstairs, where he made their excuses and they sauntered through the halls with fingers entwined.

"You hardly ate more than a couple of bites at dinner."

"It's one of those days when all I can think to stomach is soup and toast. I'll deny it if you say it was Mrs. Patmore's cooking, it is however the elaborate combinations in a row that has me on edge."

She smiled tiredly at her husband as they parted to ready themselves for bed.

When he returned to their room Mary had already slipped beneath the covers, propped against the head board opening one of the new books Matthew had gifted her for Christmas.

"I have been eagerly waiting all day to start your book, and now my eyes will not focus." She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand.

"I would love to read to you my darling, but….ah!"

He turned to open the door as a light knock resounded. A tray and then Carson appeared walking over to Mary's night stand. He placed it carefully adjusting the pile of books to centre it.

"Milady, Mrs. Patmore thought that some light supper may be needed for you. Make sure you have sufficient to help you rest." They shared a brief look of mutual understanding as he retreated where he came from.

"Thank you Carson."

"Goodnight Mr. Crawley, Lady Mary."

The sheepish look at the corners of Matthew's mouth told Mary as much as what was on the tray.

"It was you?"

"It was me." The shrug of his shoulders sang of the admission of who else it would be at this time of night.

He read steadily and soothingly as she feasted on chicken broth and dried toast, a pot of sweet tea, and she laughed as she realized that the mince pie wasn't for her, but the thin slice of cold Christmas pudding was much better offered the second time.

**_20 – If You Like a Good Argument- Father Christmas or Saint Nic?_** -

_(Canon 1920)_

"Maybe I should get Carson to moderate this argument?"

"Maybe you should, but you know that he will side with me. He is all about doing things properly, the proper English way!"

"Well that depends, on how you minister properly versus traditional."

"English history dictates that we call him Father Christmas."

"Yes a fat overindulgedman who represents drunken gaiety and holiday stupor."

"He represents sharing merriment with loved ones and family!"

"So we are to teach our children about excesses and debauchery."

"At least he is tied into the Church after the Reformation"

"You mean he was dissolved into the philosophy of St Nicholas, which I might add was a Saint, who has been around in folklore a lot longer and represents the act of giving without benefit"

"For the sake of that argument, Father Christmas is related to pagan history as a spirit of the Wildwood and symbolizes the deity of fertility. So yes let's say he has been around in _English _culture a great deal longer."

She huffed as she continued, "I am unsure if I can change my whole life's beliefs to that of a man who originated from Greece!"

"No? But you are happy to be the Andromeda to my Perseus?"

"That is completely irrelevant!"

"I don't think it is, in Greek folklore Nicholas was seen as a Christian version of Poseidon. I thought it fitting that Perseus rose from the depths buoyed by his Lord of the Sea to save his Andromeda."

"Oh I can see that as a useful argument for the use of such traditional stories at Christmas for our children. Their use of such Greek mythology will have the village children perplexed how it all fits in to getting presents."

"Would you rather we meet on neutral territory and call him Santa Claus instead?"

"So you would be willing to start another war, here at Downton, when Granny finds out that we have lost our senses and converted to Mama's America heathen extravagances?"

"Right you are. We can't have Violet or Robert have an apoplexy that we are turning American. Even though the American version of Santa Claus comes from Sinterklaas who originated in Europe and gives coins or food or small token toys in stockings hung on the fireplace?"

She sighed wholeheartedly. "I always did love the story about how St Nic placed a bag of gold coins in the drying stockings of three daughters who were to be married and their father had nothing to give them."

"Perhaps we will pass onto our children how that _act of giving _to others is more important especially at this time of year."

"You prove to me once again how much of a good man you are Matthew Crawley! A moral puritan by heart."

"You are just buttering me up Mrs. Crawley to have your way with me."

"And what kind of _way_ should I be having with you?"

"Anyway you like…."

"Well at least we have a whole year in front of us to resolve this argument."

"Let me remind you that I am actually a good lawyer."

"Oh, I know you have a way with words. Now put that mouth of yours to work."

"Why of course Darling! At once!"


	6. Day 21 - 24

**_21 – Of Snowwomen and Champions_**

_(Medieval M/M set after Day 13-15)_

"Finally wench! I was wondering when you were joining me. Come here so I may warm you up."

"I wouldn't let Lynch hear you say that, he may feel the need to report back to my father." Mary glanced over her shoulder back out the door to emphasize her point, just as Diamond tethered under the eaves stamped and let out a snort.

Matthew started at that, a look of surprise chasing over his features. A look Mary was beginning to recognize as that of a deer caught with an arrow sailing toward it.

Laughter broke the silence as she closed the door to the cold snowy landscape outside and made her way to the roaring fire, slowly extracting each finger from her glove.

"You have little faith in me Milord, and how much I relish these rendezvous' of ours."

"Ay, faith yes. But you are anything but predictable woman, and you play the part so well."

With eye cocked in question, she all but answered for him. "You would be wanting if you bed a feeble and docile woman Matthew Crawley. I stretch your brain and test your muscle!"

"And which muscle would ye be referring to? The one that coaxed you here? Or the one that coaxes you when you are here." He moved to take her cloak as it slide off, hanging it near the fire to dry the snowmelt from the hem. His fingers brushed across her shoulders, the first contact eliciting a twinge of anticipation.

She deflected, holding the sudden pang of arousal in the pit of her chest at bay a little longer. These games they played added spice to their feast, made all the sweeter for what they longed to devour.

"I can see that you thought through all your tracking signs left for me to follow you here."

"Did you like my artwork? I say, they were fun in the making."

"If you are referring to the differing forms of naked snowwomen that I found along the path at intervals as art, then it would be preferable that you stay mediating in court and humbly follow my father in estate matters. The actual answer to your question is yes though, but all naked snowwomen need to have a naked champion to protect them."

"I'm sure that I can arrange that." He sat down on the fur covered bed in the cottage and started to unlace his boots.

"Will you be a stormbraver then and melt this Ice Queen's heart."

"I believe that has already be done multiple times, and you my dear, stand before me as one very hot blooded wench that I will have my way with."

"You may feel differently when you feel how cold my hands are?" It was then that he yelped from the ice fingers that had found their way below the ties of his pants.

**_22 – Jingly Bells _**

_(Canon 1920)_

The noise was intermittent but distinctive. Not unusual for this time of year, but rather oddly timed or just a little out of place.

Mary noticed Matthew turn to the door when they were dressing for the day as if he expected the noise to come through.

Matthew noticed Mary tilt her head when walking through the Grand hall just before lunch, trying to decipher the location from which it came, her eyes raised searching.

Edith had stopped on the stairs, contemplating whether to ascend again to see what it was.

Mary had glanced at Matthew over her cup in the Library when they took tea early in the afternoon. The shake of Matthew's head indicated that he had no answer to her unspoken question.

When Carson rang the dinner gong and they escaped to their room to share in a moment alone before dressing, Matthew couldn't shake the feeling of not _knowing_.

When they laid in bed later that night, books in hand, the silence that greeted them only put on edge how their ears strained to catch it again.

As the soft sun crept through the crack in the curtains coaxing consciousness to validate the morning, they awoke as the norm bound together like a sailors knot. Mary hummed as her awareness of skin on skin and the soft heat of morning lay between them.

From the angle of the sun Matthew could tell that they had woken late, and had no intention of starting the day other than enjoying the attentions of his beautiful ( and all the more beautiful due to her glorious state of undress and swell of her belly) wife. It was irksome though, an unbidden niggle at the back of his head made him try to recount what it was that he had forgotten?

Mary made him forget, if only momentarily. The coursing of a million feathers and molten lava through their veins as they lay in the aftermath of love nestled delicately within soft quietness of the bedroom.

Then there was the sound of bells. Many little bells rang all at once. In the hall, but further down, and the noise gave Matthew purpose and decision.

He flung back the bed covers, causing Mary to jump to her side alarmed at his sudden movement. Her eyes wide with question, eyebrows demanding why the peace had been interrupted, and her hands clutched the sheets around her.

"That's it. I can no long curb my curiosity. This needs to have an answer."

He grabbed his sleeping pants and thrust his legs in haphazardly, then strode out of the room slipping his gown over his top.

Satisfied that she would not have to move from this languid position, having confidence that Matthew would surely provide her with his discovery, she relaxed against the pillows after ringing Anna to tea.

He took his time returning and Mary had finished one cup whilst daydreaming of what she would like to pick up in London the next week.

The door opened to his deep chested laughter, as Matthew strode over to the bed and sat on the edge as he spotted the tea and poured himself a cup.

"Well….?"

The laughter that painted his voice as he looked at her to reply, gave Mary faith that the source of the bells was nothing more than someone in the Christmas spirit.

"You'll never guess where I found the location of the bells that have been driving us mad?"

She huffed with impatience, "Do tell, I am all ears my love."

"Tom. Tom has found it necessary to introduce bells to Sybbie."

"Of course, babies love anything that makes noise."

"Yes well, he didn't just hand her a ring of bells to play with. He has found it very helpful to aid in Sybbie's whereabouts."

She cocked her head and knit her brows in consternation, which made Matthew laugh all the more.

"Tom has tied bells onto Sybbie's ankles as she has been escaping the nursery as soon as anyone has put her down onto the floor, and blinked. Her skills at evading nanny by crawling so fast has meant that the bells have become the quickest way to find her again, especially as she has taken a liking to going down the stairs," he continued.

They both laughed then, aware that all things babies and children would very soon be part of their immediate lives. Mary rubbed her rounded bump, making Matthew smile.

"Well, I may just have to go up to Sybbie this morning and sing her a Christmas song, changing the words just for her."

So it was just before lunch that Matthew found Mary singing quietly to herself, 'Sybbie's Bells, Sybbie's bells, Sybbie dashed away…'

**_23 – With Laughter In Their Hearts and Music On Their Breath_**

"There's nothing quite like carols to put you in the mood?'

"Mood for what exactly. Definitely not shopping?"

"It assists with the Christmas spirit, the buoyancy of feeling felicitous and giving onto others."

"The rate you are not spending, you will need to pay these carolers to walk around with you in your quest. Then you and your fellow revelers can be buoyed into joyfulness that you have found your Christmas gifts. Really Matthew I had no idea that you were not more prompt in choosing?"

"My dear, it is all about finding the exact one. I know precisely what I am looking for; I just need to find it."

They stood to the side of the gathered crowd, her hand in the crook of his arm, and he leant his head towards her ear. "I want to make sure that I have the perfect one for _my_ perfect one."

Her head tilted as she smirked but the squeeze of her arm expressed her love of his adoration. The Christmas carols did indeed add to the festive air as the promise of snow whispered in the cold London air.

'I need to be revitalized with some tea, and I have spied a teashop. Will you join me, or do you perhaps need to spend some time gallivanting around without the pressure of me observing your every move?"

"I'll get you settled with a cup and then chuff off for a bit. It won't take long to find what I need and then we can just enjoy the next few days in London."

"By ourselves!" Mary huffed with mock resignation.

"Yes, all by ourselves." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and grinned through lopsided lips, and he opened the door to the teashop for her and ushered her in.

…

The carolers were still in full crescendo as he walked past the windows back to the teashop. Mary did indeed look revived after a big pot of tea, and the obvious remains of cake on a plate. Her attentions focused on a very large Vogue magazine, she didn't see Matthew approach and started as she felt his hand run along her shoulders.

"I think I have been soothed into the Yule tide spirit." Mary straightened as Matthew sat down opposite her, eagerly awaiting an update of his progress.

"I was inspired and thought that we might enjoy some Christmas music in the comfort of our home." He passed the thin square wafer to her, as she recognized it as a record. "I am suddenly feeling very generous of spirit!"

"Ah, you mean the comfort and privacy of our own quarters. I have finished my tea and I deem it high time to return to Grantham House. Were you generous in your other pursuits?"

"Very. Now let's get you home to warm up by songs of worship."

"I do like the idea Matthew of you singing while you are worshiping me!" Her hushed reply only for his ears.

They left for home with laughter in their hearts and music on their breath.

**_24 – Roasted and Steamy_**

"Matthew! We will miss the train!" Her cry was not loud, as that would be very unladylike, yet it rang clear through the busy London station. The look that she shot him through the moving rush of people may have maimed some if they had actually met her eyes. She stepped out of the way of the hurried passerby's, tapping her toe as she waited for Matthews return.

The steam swirled around the platform, curling in and over itself, the cold air contrasted to that which the train emitted. The sigh of the engine as the burning coal heated the water to build pressure made it seem like a living thing. Lying in wait, breathing to a slow deep rhythm, as a cacophony of humans scurried around it.

Mary waited, impatient that Matthew had hurried off to god knows where in search of god knows what. The time that they had spent in London, alone from all their family had been a reprieve in the daily dealings of all things Downton. Far from the maddening family, eager to wrap her in cotton wool due to her condition, and separate from the pressures of running an estate being navigated back onto a commercially viable path. Now they were facing the return to Downton and the forthcoming celebrations of Christmas, the train journey ahead felt like a pebble in a shoe, before comfort at the other end. It hadn't helped that Matthew and Mary had stayed up late each night, either enjoying the Opera, talking like besotted young adults, or relishing a heavy comfortable silence whilst reading in front of the fire, feet tucked under them, and not changing for dinner.

Their escape had been such a different pace to Downton, as each had relished the familiarity of each other, and the irregularity of the routine. Now it was at an end, Mary did not think it prudent to delay their return, unheeded by being abandoned in the middle of a busy train station. Her eyes searched the crowd for the recognizable sight of her husband, whilst also looking very much like a patient Lady ready to board the train.

The hands on the giant clock at the end of the platform moved with aching slowness, the conductor raised the whistle to his lips, and her awareness of the different noises of the train changing suddenly made her heart hammer in her chest.

On queue the steam from the engine parted and Matthew strode with giant steps straight to Mary, a grin of satisfaction across his face. He reached for her elbow, and they took the last space to bound up the steps into their carriage, just as the brakes were released and the vessel lurched. Mary was unceremoniously jostled against his chest, her hands grasping at his lapels for support. She felt his heat and relaxed knowing the safety of his arms.

"Made it is the nick of time!" He looked sheepishly at her understanding that Mary was well within her framework to be put out by his lack of punctuality.

"Well, I hope that whatever it was will be worth it. I would have hated to miss this train and not get back to Downton at a reasonable hour." Her ridged spine and cocked eyebrow told Matthew as much as what she was saying, he certainly had learnt to read his beautiful wife.

He moved something in his hand and began to rummage in the brown paper bag, until he pulled out a small brown orb looking thing. His fingers worked at it, rubbing and peeling the outer layer off, it not being an easy thing to achieve, and Mary suddenly comprehended what it was.

"We nearly missed the train so you could buy hot roasted chestnuts?" Her question made Matthew look up and see the look of incredulous amazement across her face.

He looked decidedly abashed that he had been impulsive running after the vendor with his drum fire tossing the nuts.

"It's been years since I have had these hot from the streets. At University we regularly had these on our way home late in the evenings. But I think the last time I ate them may have been in France, on one of those few reprieves we were granted, but not enough time to return to England." He finished removing the hairy internal skin and offered it to Mary.

"Here, have the first one, they look fresh and it is still hot."

He waited with outstretched hand as he saw her hesitate. "I haven't had these since I was a young girl. I think that Carson may have bought us some at the country fair one year. As I recall I was none too impressed at how long it took to peel them." He chuckled in response, knowing that sometimes the wait was worth the effort.

Matthew's fingers worked deftly on another nut as he watched her take a bite. His humble middle classness often surfaced at times like this, when the simple pleasures of eating a roasted chestnut could be completely overlooked by the upper class.

The dainty mouthful noted the crunch, but also the creaminess, the subtle but meaty taste, the sweet, but also salty. The warmth of the nut helped with the weariness of the winter cold seeping into the compartment, and Mary longed for more. Matthew made quick work of the shells and they took turns eating the plump wrinkly cores, wanting the bag to be bottomless. Both silently glad that he had given in to impulse.


	7. Day 25

_(1926)_

"I wanted to surprise you."

"I think that you always will, even when I know exactly what you will do."

"I would hate to become predictable."

"Now that's my mantra, I must be rubbing off on you."

"Either that or the children have managed to keep me on my toes all these years.'

"That they have. Especially the twins. It remains to be seen how much longer we will be able to stay two steps ahead of them."

"Speaking of which, did you get to fit all their goodies into their stockings, I had hoped that I had just what they wanted and Mama couldn't help but throw in a few extra little trinkets." She sipped the tea that he had brought unbidden, comforted knowing that he had thought she would like it, even this late at night.

"It all squeezed in nicely, although Carson stoically voiced his concern that their stockings looked so heavy that they would fall into the fire, catch alight and burn the house down, Library first. He painted a grim picture, but I think he was just disappointed that there was no more room for the lemon drops he always sneaks in."

"Oh, he'll sneak them in, he always finds a way. Darling Carson, I hope that he likes the pocket watch we got him. I feel that we have created so much more chaos for him to remember who goes where, when and why."

"I agree that we would be lost without him." Matthew's hand stroked across Mary's shoulder in tenderness, the sight before him always melted his heart. "Here, let me take Alexi to rewrap her and rub her back. You must be tired after her feed?"

She waved her hand in dismissal of the thought. Being a mother was exhausting and also the most invigorating aspect of Mary's immediate world.

"You filled Alexi's stocking too. All I had for her was some new booties and a dress. There seems to be more than that in here?"

"I had Lynch carve her a new rattle, and of course it is her first Christmas, so she has her own copy of Hans Christian Anderson's tales."

Mary chuckled at Matthew's insistence to introduce all their young to a variety of literature at such a young age. She watched him as he paced back and forth at the end of the bed, cradling tiny Alexi whilst rubbing her back. In these moments, life overflowed with the effervescence of love and contentment. This was so right, them bringing forth little people to complete their family, and to fill the Abbey with laughter and adventures of the next generation of Crawley's.

They hung the stocking on the side of the mantle over the fire in their own room, a place they would tell the older children, where Alexi could get it when she woke so early in the morning.

A sleeping babe back in her bassinette in the corner of their room, Matthew slid under the covers to entwine with his wife. They whispered loving words in-between plans for the next day and tired sighs.

….

The storm outside crept up on the Abbey, as winds buffered against the towers, and snow swirled in a frenzy in every direction. Mary adjusted her body to move closer to the internal furnace that lay beside her, as she tucked her face closer under his shoulder.

She heard it then. Not the howling winds or the snow licking the windows, but the patter of feet approaching the door. She knew instinctively without so much as a conscious thought who it would be, and as the door whispered a crack and the feet approached the bed, Mary turned slightly and raised the covers for her other little girl to slip in beside her.

Izzy's little hand lay on Mary's cheek in a grateful caress and Mary encircled her protectively to get her warm. Not one to break the entanglement, Matthew moved his arm across Mary's body and found a new entity within their bed. Even in sleeping a small hand found her father's fingers and held on.

Just after the dead of night a tiny whimper and the kicking of blankets stirred both parents, but it was the one who needn't have got up, did so to pass a swaddled bundle to her even as her eyes barely cracked a glance. She nursed with her head back against the headboard, Izzy at her side curled into her warmth, Matthew settled back into the cocoon as the weather sounded wild outside.

The running of four feet came down the hallway and through the door in no time, as the elder two breathlessly scrambled up on the bed. Will crept in the middle between his parents, as Tilda, the eldest of them all climbed on top of Matthew and hugged him with pure childlike adoration.

Across the tops of sleepy heads, their eyes met in understanding in this shared intimate moment. These four little people needed to be where they felt safe and comforted and loved. This room had held much that the outside world need not know or be shared with, as love held together two people and the stories that they created.

….

And when the light of midmorning tickled the edges of the curtains, little bodies wriggled and little hands clasped Mary's face and exclaimed in a voice to wake them all, "It's Christmas morning Mama, Papa. Wake up…..wake up! Tilda, Will, 'Lexi, it's Christmas."

Izzy pulled at Mary's body, tugging on her nightgown. "We must see now if Saint Nic has come? Papa, Will come now…Tilda!"

Her enthusiasm roused them all, sleepy eyes rubbed and feet stuck in slippers, as the little heads bounded towards the stairs, Matthew threatening to beat them all, as Mary trailed down last with Alexi and her stocking in hand.

_Merry Christmas to all, and to all a great Downton Day!_


End file.
